


At Which He Starts, and Wakes

by Redmalkin



Series: If We Have Unearned Luck [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Activate Plan MakeShitUp, Angst and Humor, Because These Two Don’t Operate Any Other Way, But Apparently It Works, Dubious Consent, First Time Together, Kirkwall Pack Honourable Mention, Light Bondage, M/M, Plans Do Not Survive Contact With Anything, Rough Sex, Sarcastic!Warrior!Cian Hawke, Siblings Are Asshats, Snark, Stubborness, Twice (Technically? It’s Complicated)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 20:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redmalkin/pseuds/Redmalkin
Summary: Mid-to-late Act I: Varric gets rolled good and hard by Idunna’s (as it turns out) desire magic at The Blooming Rose. Hawke opts for keeping him confined to quarters until it wears off. Templar recruits to rescue, coin to earn; the Deep Roads expedition is only weeks away, with all their futures riding on it. Simple Plan Is Foolproof.../And exactly which part of doing this alone, turning down the offer of backup in case things got tricky seemed like a good idea?//Leader’s responsibility, lack of pirate wenches- //Right, no other reason…/





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story ended up running waaay beyond the initial prompt. (It's not all full of the pron, you'll probably know it when you see it). Inspired by the DA kinkmeme prompt below (Semi SPOILERS):
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> "This is a call out for porn with a little bit o' plot.
> 
> Varric fell fast and hard under Idunna's spell. So let's say it was an arousal spell that has to wear off over time. Under this spell, forceful dwarf is forceful and so Anders insists Varric can't be left alone for fear he'd grab some hapless waitress and do something regrettable, or any other number of bad turnouts. So Hawke keeps him locked in his room at the Hanged Man until it wears off.
> 
> Varric is really, really roused, and ends up topping the heck out of Hawke at least a couple of times before the spell wears off. It can be willing on Hawke's part or a dub-con/non-con thing. It's all good to me. No restriction on kinks employed in fill.
> 
> Bonus points for Hawke having had a crush on Varric already and this WASN'T how he wanted to end up in bed with the dwarf. But what's done is done."
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Finally managed to ditch all those hangers on? Suits me fine.”

There was a note in Varric’s voice as the door closed that had Hawke considering briefly what it might be like to face the rogue from the wrong side of a battlefield; it wasn’t quietening.

The run-in at the Blooming Rose had gone about as smoothly as ever, and had resulted in a dead blood mage, a- somewhat justifiably- furious Madame Lusine, a lead on the missing Templars at least, and a Varric very much under the influence of…they had no bloody idea what. It might have been largely dumb luck that the rest of them seemed to have shaken off whatever mess of magic the former ‘Exotic Wonder’ had hit them with; they hadn’t waited around to give any more complications an opening before bailing for the Hanged Man.

Varric hadn’t given them trouble- well, beyond eyeing up them and almost everyone else between High and Lowtown with an interest that fell only marginally short of leering; although not even blood magic seemed willing to chance anything further against Aveline’s Look. But his quiet and apparently unfocussed preoccupation held a little too much of the patience of an ambush predator, content to wait as long as it took for that one moment of opportunity.

“Quiet, distraction, I’d knock him out if I thought it would better the chances; for it to hit a dwarf this hard whatever she constructed must have had a kick like an ogre. Oh and that’s even before the fact that any sort of desire magic is about as chaotic and unpredictable as you can get.”

Anders hadn’t been able to offer much specific advice; and Merrill’s suggestions had all involved the use of more blood magic, which no-one wanted to add to the mix. The irony of Isabela’s absence chasing down the fourth ‘promising lead’ that week wasn’t lost on Hawke; she might actually have seen the situation as an enjoyable challenge. Whether or not that would have helped was another question entirely.

Locking Varric in his room until the spell wore off- and they were just going to run with the optimistic assumption that that would eventually happen- seemed like the simplest plan.

_/And exactly which part of doing this alone, turning down the offer of backup in case things got tricky seemed like a good idea?/_  
_/Because this put the fewest number of people in the potential line of fire./_  
_/And why you?/_  
_/Leader’s responsibility, lack of pirate wenches- /_  
_/Right, no other reason…/_

Varric turned at the skittering of keys that Hawke had tried to nonchalantly slide under the shelves just inside the door. Not the stealthiest choice perhaps but it might make them slightly trickier to reach; right now pockets seemed like a container with a sign saying ‘help yourself’. He hadn’t moved, but Hawke had to fight harder than he liked to keep a stance that said neutral and not ‘frozen’ under that look that in an instant now held no trace of distraction. 

Alone was suddenly seeming less and less desirable; unless it involved Varric inside and Hawke holding the fort outside.

_/Shame about those keys you just made it all awkward to get to./_

“Quiet night in seemed like a plan; it’s been quite a day.”

Hawke forced casual into his steps across the room to pull up one of the low, wide chairs at the table.

“Sure has.”

Varric moved unhurriedly around the suite, relinquishing the duster, various weapons and finally Bianca, placed with care on the table in a routine familiar but in this case not relaxing as Varric’s hand caressed her stock, tracing the carvings winding across it. The seemingly idle movements echoing the calculating assessment in the gaze that flicked to Hawke’s and lingered a little too long.

“Seems a shame to have it end so early.”

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Well the only other entertainment option was a late night raid on a blood mage stronghold.”

Ordinarily they would have taken the lead and hit it sooner rather than later, before things had a chance to get any more complicated. The universe’s sense of humour had beaten them to it on that front so he’d sent the others home; to get some rest, Aveline to track down Fenris if she could, they’d hit it come daybreak. Yeah, he was sure things would be sorted out by then…the alleyway of time between now and that point was starting to look longer, and murkier, than at first glance.

“It can wait for a while” _/Oh so you’re free this evening?/_ “but the Templars might feel generous for rescuing one of their own, so the sooner we deal to it the better if we want to be the ones to collect.”

“Let the rest of them handle it” the edge of a smile flickered across Varric’s face although it did little to lighten his expression. “That’s what followers are for. Guess I can’t complain about a partner with a work ethic though.”

Varric waved away the matter with a suddenly dismissive hand as he turned to the cabinet holding the rogue’s impressive personal collection of alcohol; filling two glasses to offer one to Hawke.

“Something worth drinking to.”

Maybe if he ran with it ‘casual’ might actually make it into this evening; and maybe he’d figure out a strategy for talking distractions around the member of their group who made a living out of it. You know how to pick your challenges Hawke…

“That’s definitely worth finding a work ethic for”. Not an exaggeration regarding the glass’s expensive contents as he reached to take the offering…

And to have a fraction of a second to regret the waste of very good alcohol, grabbing for the glass as it ‘slipped’ somewhere between his hand and Varric’s to splinter under the table. That thought vanished with the grip that pulled him awkwardly to half-standing, spun him around as a foot tangled with his and sent him sprawling face down over one arm of the chair he’d just vacated, barely turning his head in time to avoid his face colliding with the other. Pinned by the rogue’s weight and an arm pulled uncomfortably high up his back; and by the knowledge that, that quickly, the situation had likely just slid out of his control and he hadn’t seen it coming.

“Little slow there Hawke.” Varric’s chuckle strolled up Hawke’s spine and idly flexed its claws against the back of his neck.

“Not sure you should be facing enemies tonight with reflexes like those; but then I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

 _/Oh it may very well end up being a problem.../_ There was a suggestion in the rough purr of Varric’s voice that he was being seen in a category that slid uncomfortably close to ‘prey’.

“I’m not sure I want Bianca to get the wrong idea here...”

Trying to force levity he didn’t feel, as his cautious shifting only led to the rogue tightening his hold with the easy skill of someone used to dealing with larger opponents far more than they were used to dealing with him.

“Oh, no need to worry about that, Bianca’s a lady who enjoys a good show; and I intend to give her one. And so do you or you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”

 _Not_ like this, with someone he thought he knew turned stranger; and blood magic making that not even slightly a good thing. Hawke jerked as he felt cord loop around one wrist; getting things back at this point would involve fighting Varric for real, and he knew even as the realisation hit that that moment of choice had gone, snarled in the knot of uncertainty in his head. Having no idea what else was in that spell he didn’t want to find out how much worse things might get if he pushed it, but if there was a reluctance to hurt a friend a colder part of his mind pointed out that that person also held control over the only chance for a future for his family. And less helpfully that it wasn’t all reluctance in his thoughts, or other parts of him, about where the evening was going.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Don’t try to pretend you don’t want this, you think I haven’t noticed since we met?” Varric’s evident enjoyment of the situation danced a thin line between playful and vicious. 

Exaggeration; it wasn’t _immediately_ since. He hadn’t met any dwarfs before coming to Kirkwall, it had taken a while to figure out exactly how he’d been drawn to the combination of disarming sarcasm and charm that could turn in a blink to ruthlessly competitive competence that was Varric; and that it went beyond gratitude and a working friendship.

Hips ground against Hawke’s as a knee shoved his stance wider and the slide of his rapidly growing erection against stone and leather drew a muttered gasp from him; his other wrist easily captured as his balance wavered. 

He’d wondered once or twice if Varric might have been interested, and had been more than a little tempted to take it further but had held back; so much for subtlety. Hawke elected not to answer, whatever that implied; a winning or even particularly eloquent counter-argument seemed unlikely since his body didn’t seem to have gotten whatever message his brain was trying to send.

“Silence? Try a lie that works next time. Although…that’ll just make it a little bit sweeter when you sing; and I promise” Hawke stilled at the chill of metal, a whisper of edge in the touch “you _will_ be begging for it before the night’s up.”

The blade made short, destructive work of armour straps, flicked through shirt laces to add to the discards decorating the floor. Varric’s hands flanked his spine, tracing down to rest at his hips, fingertips digging in as they slipped inside the waist of his breeches before dragging them down and sliding his bound wrists a notch or two higher; doubling him over with his ass shamelessly in the air, the chair’s stone cold against his face.

One then a second spit-slicked digit slid into him, sudden enough to draw a hiss at the small stinging flares that came and went as muscles worked to adjust to the too-quick stretch. Until as they thrust and splayed with an impatient tempo Varric’s fingers curled to slide their tips across that spot inside him, just often enough to leave him strung between avoidance and desire. Feeling his breathing come faster and not entirely steady, until the sudden lack as Varric pulled out abruptly had Hawke shuddering; trying only partially successfully not to shift against the length that slid once, twice teasingly up and down the crack of his ass before he felt the head pressing against his entrance.

Varric was big, quite a lot more so than any of his previous encounters; and his arousal wavered, muscles tensing around Varric’s girth as the stretch shifted to pain, sharp and sudden. After a moment Varric eased back to pause briefly, one hand running roughly across Hawke’s ass and lower back, more possession than care as he continued in a steady rhythm; in, out not quite as far, in again. The effort to hold the pace to bearable evident in his low mutters, harshened by want.

Part of Hawke shouted that playing this game of dubious trust with Varric was impressively stupid; somewhere along the way it got overridden by a stubborn refusal to let himself back out now from this trouble he’d gotten himself into, even if he truly wanted to. Hauling his focus onto unclenching his hands twisting uselessly against their bonds; and relaxing enough to match his movements to the other’s- for once the path of least resistance.

The burn of the stretch began to ease slightly; then Varric continued to bury himself inch by inch, spreading and filling him until the sensation trembled again on the point of too much, too far, as his hips came to rest against Hawke’s.

“Should have fucked you months back” Varric growled hoarsely, his voice ghosting over Hawke’s back as he flicked his hips experimentally.

Even that slight movement inside him was at once enough to send a bolt of heat and pleasure-pain shooting up Hawke’s spine dead on target; and the moan it drew from him wantonly discarded confusion in favour of _need_.

~~~~~~~~~~  
Varric accepted the tacit invitation with a noise of satisfaction, rapidly building to a fast, deep pace. His grip eased but Hawke was disinclined to protest anything in that moment, caught between the burn now melted to wet heat sliding inside him on every thrust, and the feeling of his own cock against sweat-polished stone, its coolness lost. Every rolling withdrawal that brushed across that sweet spot further coiling the tightness in his groin and belly.

“Oh no; not so easy.”

The stone’s edge dug a line across his chest as Varric’s hands twisted in the bindings to yank him back onto the next stroke; grinding against Hawke’s ass while his cock was left meeting only air. The sudden lack of contact wrung a tangle of inarticulate sounds of frustration from him as Varric’s thrusts became shallower, shakier; running him along the sharp edge of pleasure almost, _almost_ enough but not. At last with a groan Varric came inside him, spilling himself in short hard jerks and in spite of himself Hawke was grinding his own hips to meet them, seeking a release continuing to slip maddeningly out of reach.

His breathing heavy, Varric’s weight settled against his back, his hands flexing caresses mirroring the small, perhaps idle, shifts of his body within and against Hawke. Except that every movement rippled through him, tantalising but denying, until they had him shivering helplessly away; perhaps not.

For one moment he thought Varric might actually oblige him until a knuckle dug in behind his balls, deftly pulling his physical arousal back from the verge and sending the desire coursing through his body sprawling, left with nowhere to go but undiminished in the slightest. It didn’t take much against legs already shaky to send him to his knees, putting them almost at a height as a hand threaded through his hair, drawing him back as Varric’s chin nestled against his neck.

“There’s only one game on the table tonight.”

The words murmured cool against sweat, each one punctuated as Varric marked a sharp line from earlobe to shoulder.

Only one? Hawke was suddenly missing the layered conversations that inevitably hid several other gambits; when the rogue went quiet was the time to worry. And usually bid your stake farewell.

“Don’t ask, don’t get.”

The hand in his hair steered him awkwardly across the room; and pants around ankles was not the strongest of positions for raising an opinion from.

The covers on the bed were tidier than he’d expected Hawke noted as he landed, for reasons unknown it seemed important. But it was the visual as he pulled himself to more-or-less sitting against bound wrists that captured his attention. Varric had shed his shirt and his eyes never left Hawke’s as he divested himself leisurely of boots and trousers; by his swagger well aware of his captive, as it were, audience. But here and there, in a pause, a look would flicker through as if Hawke was worth the whole damn world.

And under a very many other circumstances he would have wanted, _had_ wanted this, if whoever watched him from those eyes had been more reliably Varric. Although he wasn’t going to turn down the view of the rogue standing naked on front of him, showing off the solid but compact muscle that backed up ferocious speed- a misassumption opponents rarely made for long; and the veritable pelt that flowed from chest to groin. Hawke generally wouldn’t have said that was a thing of his; but then Varric had proved to be the catalyst for a lot of exceptions.

The moment broke with Varric’s realisation that Hawke was technically still partially clothed, however dishevelled; that aggressively purposeful glint returning to his eyes and almost stalking steps towards the bed. Hawke had no idea where the blade had ended up, but suddenly he was really hoping his pants might make it out of the evening more or less intact, since his dignity wasn’t looking like a candidate.

That desire had him struggling to get both pants and boots off without the use of his hands and without tangling them, aware that this probably wasn’t doing anything for said dignity. Although Varric was enjoying the show, judging by the lazy smirk that crossed his face.

“Keep the boots.”

~~~~~~~~~~  
The order low as he roughly finished Hawke’s efforts; and in a small favour the trousers hit the floor ignored in favour of footwear being shoved back on.

Hands slid along the leather, up his legs as Varric pulled him to sit perched against the edge of the bed, thumbs tracing the hollows around Hawke’s crotch. Varric stood so close Hawke could feel the heat from him; their cocks almost brushing, Varric’s hard again, or still, from the first time he’d fucked Hawke.

Fingers captured his jaw- lighter this time, stubble rasping as teeth nipped at his throat before Varric’s mouth closed over his, tugging at Hawke’s lower lip as his tongue demanded entry, winding across the inside of Hawke’s mouth to tangle with his own.

Varric’s other hand continued to wander, teasing lines along his thigh, flicking across nipples, sliding over his belly to pause splayed, but always managing to remain a whisper away from giving him the touch he ached for, despite his efforts. Toying with him until the rogue’s chuckle hummed through his throat at the moans he couldn’t swallow, muffled under Varric’s mouth.

“So fucking pretty; I could get to like this view. Maybe I should take you on in a different role on our little trip…”

“Wanting it enough to sing for me yet?”

The question asked musingly; a reminder that either way, Varric was quite happy to play this particular game all night.

“Hawks don’t sing…”

…even when they should. Losing hand or not, damned if he was going to fold to some blighted piece of blood magic over this. But he was all too aware that stubbornness was not actually his ally tonight as the hold at his jaw tightened sharply until he winced, and Varric’s expression darkened. Yeah; clever, Hawke.

Hands gripped his thighs lifting him enough to toss him further backwards onto the bed, Varric following before he could do more than blink. A grip at his scalp hauled him to his knees, crooking his neck back painfully to where Varric knelt behind him.

“No? Poor luck for them; guess we’ll have to find another use for that mouth of yours…” 

He felt stray coils at his wrists shift.

“Hear they scream though.”

Hawke cried out, jerking against those hands as Varric bit down at the junction of neck and shoulder damn near deep enough to draw blood. The sudden pain no warning before rope slipped over his head, running from wrists around his neck and back again; and his gasp had little to do with anything beyond drawing, just, a hitching breath.

Caught like a bird in a snare. The rope’s reach barely enough as Varric played the slack in and out in no steady pattern, riding that same dark edge of the entire evening, never easing the tension. Soon Hawke could feel his pulse hammering against the cord dragging at skin, leaving him light-headed; tiny brilliant sunbursts flickering across his vision like water droplets on hot oil.

And still the lesser torment while Varric’s cock slid leisurely against Hawke’s back, his slick melding with the sweat that trickled scalding down his spine. The almost-gentleness in the rolling strokes another thread in the trap just as sure as that at his throat, every move only driving home his helplessness to get any friction _at all_ on his own achingly hard cock, the heavy tightness of release denied now shifted to pain.

Awkwardly, Hawke attempted to raise his wrists a little up his back, trying to buy enough slack for a full breath. Varric obliged, just not in a way he wanted; sliding them painfully high and sending the strain sparking through the muscles in his arms and shoulders.

~~~~~~~~~~  
Hawke gritted his teeth against the rope still no more accommodating and felt fingers trail along his jaw and across his lips. He took them in, his tongue laving across them as he sucked, the strain at his neck slackening a little in response to his obedience. Varric lazily drew them in and out, sometimes curling them to trace across the inside of Hawke’s mouth or against the motions of his tongue as he withdrew, before thrusting them straight and deep once more. The angle had Hawke struggling to keep from choking, and unthinkingly he nipped at the digits between his teeth.

“Bad move” Varric growled, pulling free; at the same time yanking the rope tight enough to leave Hawke clawing for fragments of air through a white flare of pain.

Three fingers filled him roughly in a cursory prep, slicked with his own saliva and the remnants of seed from Varric’s first time; before the impromptu leash- whether or not he wanted that image- ordered him onto his side. A hand gripped the leather of his boots at the back of his knee, pulling his leg up and back, splaying him open for Varric to sheath himself again in one long slow stroke. His pace was slower this time, the strokes short but hard, grinding against Hawke’s ass while remaining buried deep. Suspended between twin points of control that pinned him, unable to surrender fully or pull away from either and uncertain which he wanted…

_**Mine**. His to enjoy, in the heat of flesh around him; and his to control. Playing an opponent, making them dance to your tune before they realised it, oh yes that game he knew. And he’d won this round as he revelled in the tension running through sweat licked skin, in sending the boy under him arching against Varric’s thrusts and hands, crying out hoarsely in mingled confusion and need…_

_The sensations mingling until one became the other…control…pleasure…and he would take them both until Hawke broke for him, begged for him…_

Varric’s hands eased as he shuddered to his second climax, around gasped phrases of something decidedly not the King’s dwarvish. Hawke wasn’t sure if his own next use of words would involve curses or entreaties. Neither, it turned out, in favour of struggling to avoid being rolled over roughly to his knees, face half buried against the covers in a pose that he didn’t even have to see to know how lewd it probably looked. The rogue avoided his ill-balanced attempts to shove him away enough to straighten up laughably easily.

“Not so grateful there Hawke, and here I was thinking you might be lonely for a bit of attention of your own.” 

The hand that landed across his ass was neither playful nor gentle.

“Guess you’re not missing out then. But I’m still waiting for my song...”

Varric made good on what could be considered either promise or threat depending on which way you looked at it. Fingers traced around the ring of muscles at his entrance, every now and again sliding just far enough to curl inside him; gentle, and never enough to deliver what they hinted at, nails marked fine lines roughly across his ass, stinging against the flat burn of strikes that soon had him swallowing a hiss. Gliding along the sensitive trail from his hole to brush featherlight over his balls, and Hawke would have sworn it was _not possible_ for him not to come in that moment, until they tightened and tugged once more just _so_ , leaving him staggering; every nerve strung over taut under his body’s demands refused.

He would have snarled in frustration if he’d had the air against the rope’s caress, its temporary gentleness just another taunt. There was a casual precision in every touch as Varric played with him, dedicated to securing victory and confident that he’d eventually have it; and if the rogue’s hitching breathes, and the heat now and then of Varric’s cock, hard _again_ against him bespoke a wavering restraint Hawke knew they were overridden by the litany of noises he was losing ground in holding back.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Maker’s balls…just fucking _do_ it Varric…” his resolve eroded enough that the words tumbled out, muffled but definite; desperation edged with anger. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it rough when the game was right, but submission, begging, was not a role he played; and his aversion tangled this time on the barbs hidden under the evening. The purr of victory in Varric’s laugh did not however lead to a let-up in his ministrations.

“Going to have to sing a little louder there, didn’t quite catch that…” perversely the cord tugged a little more snugly against Hawke’s throat cutting off whatever he might have said next, before easing in a clear invitation as Varric’s hips ground once more against his…

“ _Please…_ ” He had no idea how he was willing to finish that sentence, when the restraint of rope and hands fell away without warning, Varric pulling back from him to hit the floor heavily with a sharp bark of pain.

Instinct had him rolling over, silently cursing the magic’s vicious bitch timing, and knowing somehow that its absence wasn’t going to make things any easier. A gut feeling confirmed as he watched Varric straighten up with a grimace and a notable lack of arousal; for Hawke merely heightening his fight to ignore the wrench of immediate distractions long enough to focus.

 _/A spare hand here?/_  
The quip didn’t quite make it out of his mouth, as he attempted to keep something approximating cohesion to his efforts to free his hands from the bindings that yielded stubbornly. Seeing the brew of lust and possessiveness drain from Varric’s eyes leaving behind confusion and an expression Hawke hadn’t seen from the rogue before; open shock.

“You need a healer?” Varric’s voice was hoarse, his tone matching the expression in his eyes.

 _/Yes, if I don’t get rid of these- /_  
Hawke shook his head mutely as finally the cords fell away, not bothering to hide his wince at the fire of returning blood flow. Varric made as if to take a step forward only to freeze as Hawke reflexively shied away, and then in another first…fled; an exit too graceless to be any form of tactical withdrawal, qualifying only as a rout.

He should follow- should say, do something…at about which point every other priority was overridden by the two quick, desperate strokes it took for him to be spilling himself _hard_ with a cry. Orgasm running through him in a roil of scalding heat, unstringing him momentarily; the blood almost sparking through the tips of his fingers clenched in the sheets that echoed the room’s musk of lust and hunger and…Varric.

Once he left it felt as though there would be no second chances, whatever could have been now taken, used, and discarded courtesy of one fucking spell. And that was fine, right now he wanted to be away from here, to forget the evening had ever…didn’t he?

The ability to be wearing pants seemed like the most crucial victory of the evening when he emerged to find the rest of the suite deserted; Varric (and Bianca) vanished. Hawke hadn’t heard the door and idly wondered what state of attire Varric had managed that hastily, while retrieving clothing and attempting to salvage armour enough to have it be worn. And if he didn’t actually need a healer he didn’t think twice about swiping and downing a couple of minor healing draughts from the rogue’s supply that he knew about. They still had a job to finish that evening; or something.

He really, _really_ wanted a drink, but that would have involved staying longer than he wanted, as in at all. Although as it turned out leaving held fewer elements of a ‘showing up on parade naked’ dream than it could have; the Hanged Man’s patrons were well-practised in turning an ostensibly blind eye to comings and goings in various states of… ‘dishevelment’. Avoiding having to explain anything at home…those marks could have felt like fading a little faster… was probably going to end up being more complicated.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the evening’s little mission had been wrapped up with all the charm the hour of the wolf could offer Hawke was wondering why, even when short-handed, he had thought that bringing Fenris and Merrill both along to deal with blood mages would be a good idea. Consequently he’d felt no guilt whatsoever at waking Knight-Captain Cullen up to discuss results, and payment. And to put in a word for Keran for whatever it was worth before the rumour mill hit its stride; he had a certain sympathy for people whose lives had just been turned upside down courtesy of blood magic.

He did manage to snatch enough sleep that the morning’s sunlight didn’t include too much sand mixed through it when, with his usual dramatic timing, the next crisis on the list arrived in the form of Varric. An uncharacteristically quiet and sober, in all senses, Varric, although he hid it well enough if you weren’t watching; Hawke was.

They headed in silence for the area where the streets began a graceless and unpredictable slide from Lowtown into Darktown; and where the attitude tended to be ‘stay out of our leg-breaking, and we’ll stay out of your mugging’. Interrupting others’ proceedings in these alleyways tended to be fatal; but Hawke had noted long before they found a patch of dubious but unoccupied alleyway that they were a member short to this party. Bianca wasn’t with them.

“Turns out there isn’t an apology for assaulting a friend while under the influence of blood magic that doesn’t come down to ‘I’m sorry’. And Ancestors Hawke, I _am_ truly sorry. I’ve never had anything get inside my head like that, hoping I never bloody well do again. But that doesn’t excuse what I did, and when I cut and ran…I was a coward.”

The quiet words cut straight to the point, matching Varric’s look that met Hawke’s without evasion. 

“Tell me what I need to do to…make things right between us.”

The location, Bianca’s absence, Varric wouldn’t be unarmed but it was fairly obvious how he’d expected this conversation might go.

_/So I kick seven shades of shite out of you and we call it even? Why can’t this be one of those times when that strategy will actually solve the problem?/_  
_/It might…/_  
_/Yeah, well if that’s the way you wanted it, pretty much any point last night would have been the time to figure that out. You know, when you weren’t distracted by other things…/_

Not wanting to have that internal argument right now or even particularly this conversation Hawke opted for dealing with the one thing he did know; there was too much- everything in fact, for his family riding on that expedition for this to become- too- personal.

“Does our agreement for the expedition still stand?”

“If you still want it to…then yeah, it still stands.” Varric’s tone was studiously neutral, apparently willing to let the conversation go wherever Hawke felt like taking it.

Hawke nodded into the silence that wedged itself awkwardly into the space between them. He should leave it there, let time and the advancing expedition bury it and eventually, maybe, get them back to something like where they had been. He didn’t (well he did) precisely blame Varric (sort of?), but he didn’t want the two of them around one another right now; beyond that he wasn’t sure what he was willing to risk wanting. But…

“How much do you remember of…what happened last night?” Regret flickered in Varric’s eyes as he picked his response carefully, but honestly.

“Most of it…But the pieces are all over the place, like trying to imagine someone else’s memories. The only things that seemed to make any sense were the things that I knew really shouldn’t, that you’d never want to want…” Varric paused, possibly waiting for whatever details Hawke felt like bringing up in accusation; like the one point that was compelling him to keep digging at this…

“So the part when you said that you should have fucked me months ago; was that your thought, or ‘someone else’s’?” The question sharper than he’d meant; and the heat he could feel on his face wasn’t eased by the shock on Varric’s.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Hawke, I never wanted anything from you- would _never_ want it from anyone- like that.”

“Which isn’t what I asked.” Although that much at least he did believe.

“Yes or no Varric, were- are- you interested in me?”

“…Yeah.” Varric finally replied quietly.

“Since when?”

“Few weeks after we met.”

“And you didn’t say anything because…?”

“Because we made a damn good team, but our initial arrangement was a business one; I didn’t want you to feel…coerced over anything else, even once we got to be friends.” Varric’s mouth twisted at the irony of the rationale, as if uncertain whether the issue of ‘friendship’ still applied. “Plus, humans and dwarves, not that common.”

Hawke wasn’t sure whether to laugh or knock his head against the wall at the pair of them.

“Seemed pretty confident when you said you knew I’d wanted it since we met.”

“As frequently evidenced, at the best of times I can be an asshole who shoots his mouth off when he shouldn’t. And even if I’d known the truth either way behind whatever I said last night nothing would have justified forcing- ”

“You weren’t wrong you know.”  
If they were going to lay out how many ways this situation was screwed to the Fade and back may as well be thorough about it.

“I was…curious, but like you said, we had a ‘business arrangement’; I didn’t want to complicate things.”

Said complications sprawled in the silence, making themselves at home. Varric’s expression gave little away but hadn’t shown surprise.

_/So here we are, having managed to ‘responsible’ ourselves into being fucking dumber than a pair of stuffed nugs./_

“I grew up with mages” Hawke said eventually.  
“No-one does well against blood magic. What happened…wasn’t your fault. Let’s just make it as far as the expedition; Bartrand’s more than enough trouble to deal with.” The single weak attempt at humour of the entire conversation didn’t raise a smile from either of them; apparently things were that bad. 

“Hawke, if I can- ”  
All at once Varric’s hand on his arm as he turned to leave had him wanting _space_ , and the fact that Varric had pretty much been waiting for this was for a moment just too convenient.

The blow sent the rogue sprawling heavily; he hadn’t made any attempt to evade it.  
“We’ve got work to do” Hawke said roughly, finally opting to listen to that voice that was telling him to walk away from this; _now_.  
“If I need you, I know where to find you. Just- don’t count on it for a while.”

~~~~~~~~~~  
He was well alone before Varric got to his feet; feeling something click painfully in his jaw. Probably hadn’t been a smart idea provoking that; right now he didn’t much care. Would have taken a lot worse if it would have shifted the reality of how much damage he’d done to a friendship he cared about a hell of a lot more than the blighted expedition.

_/And some master of spies and bullshit you’d be if you hadn’t noticed the way he’d been watching; not that he hadn’t been half-bad at sneaky./_

_/So cowardice not just for last night then; afraid that this time that alleged gilded tongue of yours wouldn’t deliver the goods? Earning you precisely one more business partner than you deserve; congratulations./_

Said blighted expedition did provide a distraction over the following weeks as the final chaotic stages of preparation hit. He and Bartrand were calling in, politely or otherwise, financial markers at a rate precisely calculated (and vehemently disagreed over) to convey complete control over this masterstroke of financial genius. And not even the merest hint of uncertainty; plenty of eyes were watching this latest venture of House Tethras, few of them friendly.

While they could technically finance it on their own without going bankrupt it would set them back so many years that Bartrand’s pride would probably find insolvency preferable. And to a House in trouble the Guild resembled less a pack of wolves and more one of those giant lizards Varric had heard about, that simply bit their prey and then followed it for days until it collapsed from blood loss and ghastly infection before leisurely finishing it off. Unlike his brother however, Varric trusted that their “sodding topside duster” would deliver the what and when of his side of the deal.

The Hanged Man had become neutral ground for the comings and goings of the pack either avoiding, recovering from, or preparing for something under Hawke’s aggressive recruiting for just about every “coin in hand, no questions asked” job in Kirkwall. By unspoken agreement Hawke wasn’t allowed to bribe, cajole or otherwise swipe people from there- Varric wasn’t sure how that worked with Rivaini; but all other locations were fair game. People weren’t complaining about the extra coin at least, and Hawke was driving himself harder than anyone, but erratic appearances and frayed tempers didn’t fool everyone. He and Hawke were circling past each other at the Hanged Man, Hawke rarely staying for anything beyond business; and Varric hadn’t been crewing any of the numerous jobs of the past few weeks.

He’d told Rivaini and Blondie in no uncertain terms to leave it alone. The latter had been fussing like a Chantry Mother in making sure the spell had worn off without leaving any hidden surprises; handling the physical aspects with his usual skill while obviously trying to gauge the psychological collateral. Varric didn’t know what Hawke had revealed to the healer on either count and wasn’t about to volunteer anything in response to suspicions. Although the mage did have a neat grasp on creating apparently casual silence that encouraged someone to fill it with useful bits and pieces. That was Varric’s trick dammit, and he preferred the view of it from his side.

He also hoped a repeat of Rivaini’s comment concerning the unfairness of missing out on some action at the Rose that not even she’d tried before hadn’t made it back to Hawke. The most worrying sign was that she’d stopped blatantly adding to his tab at the Hanged Man; and occasionally shot him looks that made Bianca twitch. His lady might have next to no time for daggers but only someone tired of the current arrangement of their internals wouldn’t respect that pair. Protective, considering she’d been quick to hook up and move on; not that it hadn’t been honest about what it was…  
_/So, that would put her one up on you right about now then./_

Aveline…it was hard to tell. But surprisingly Carver seemed to have picked up that something was off, almost falling over himself to try and make sure the payoff at the end of everything was still on the table. Kid wanted to take care of his family, couldn’t fault him for that; unfortunately he wasn’t the talent his brother was. And as Varric had figured out a long time back (and generously shared, despite a lack of appreciation), following in someone’s footsteps carried the risk of being stuck in their shadow as well.

The madness wasn’t a surprise, couldn’t pull off something this big without some risk; it hadn’t stopped Varric wishing more than was helpful that he could be directly involved in managing some of said risk. He had a pretty good list via the others, of the jobs Hawke had been taking and knew he could have offered better- and kept Anders off their backs about taking up entirely too much clinic time and space. Right now all he could do was wait, and not get so distracted as to let Bartrand win an argument that actually counted; plenty of risk right there.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“So; rumour had it there was a supplier around here somewhere of abundant work of the ‘little effort and large payoff’ variety.”

Varric looked up at the voice from the doorway. Too much tension in Hawke’s stance to make it truly casual, but perhaps a slight shifting in the balance; from avoidance towards the suggestion of an opening. And for the first time in weeks he’d stayed long enough to come further than the common room; Varric wasn’t about to take it for granted.

“Rumour always was a lazy bitch with the details, must have this placed confused with some other city; one with a golden tint maybe. But I do have a fine selection of ‘large amounts of work for minimally-above-average pay’ available”.

“Such a sales pitch; and here I thought this city was supposed to have everything for the right price.”

Varric unearthed a slip of paper. “Best that’s going, although I have to warn you this one isn’t likely to get you back on Athenril’s Wintermass gifts list.”

“And I’ve learned to come to terms with that” Hawke glanced at the contents.  
“She’ll just have to find her own dwarf who swims like a fish. Still… _not_ taking this job might come with the option of Aveline _not_ trying to ‘persuade’ me.”

“Is this absolutely, positively the last time she’ll be able to look the other way before it’s out of her hands when the law catches up with you? Might make a better bluff if she didn’t end up coming along anyway at least half the time.”

“I like to think of our outings as providing balance; a guilty pleasure” a slight edge at the label. “Woman’s wound too bloody tight.”  
There was no real malice in the remark, simply the incorrigible streak in Hawke’s nature that involved no self-control regarding baiting the guardswoman. Of course Aveline gave it right back so the two of them were well matched in that.

“Anyway, even she figured out how weak that argument was getting; so now when her conscience won’t let her tag along or leave it alone it’s all about how ‘it’s not too late to walk away from this shady slope to disaster; hunting fame and glory thieving from the dead’. Oh and ‘and then where will your mother be if you go and get yourself killed?’ Nice to know she has such faith in my little brother.”

“It _is_ a time honoured guilt inducing argument…though for her own sake the sooner she figures out there are enough entities in Kirkwall more than happy to put any Guard, never mind the new head, into an early grave without adding herself to that list; the better. The Guard’s only ever been able to keep a lid on the worst of Kirkwall’s beast, and the pack’s activities? Nothing beyond business as usual.”

It wasn’t like House Tethras, and Varric himself, didn’t have contacts or a history with the ‘worst’. But it was no accident and had involved considerable effort to have it so that they dealt with them rarely, and on their own terms. And he’d been sure enough at the time to make the business offer, still was, that Hawke’s inclinations didn’t run to that line of work even if his talents could have easily turned to it. Varric wasn’t looking to revisit that chapter of the past.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Oh I wouldn’t underestimate her ability- or is that pig-headed stubbornness, I get confused; she’ll find a way over the next few years to change the rules about which doors the law will and won’t be knocking on. You might need to start looking over your shoulder.”

“Any idiot can get rich by just taking it, where’s the fun in a challenge if the other side can’t try and take it right back? Could be fun to have things shaken up a little. And at House Tethras we offer strictly high quality nefarious money-making activity; practically a public service how we’re helping to improve the law, pointing out weak spots.”

“Please save me a seat for when you try and make that argument to her. But if I’m going to get lectured anyway may as well get paid along the way. Can’t hit the peace and quiet of the Deep Roads without it.”

Mention of the expedition sent the conversation stumbling, that had taken them almost to the once-common scenario of them seated around Varric’s table, and the ease they’d had. Almost. The business-like distance of recently returned to Hawke’s demeanour as he reached for the slip, replacing it on the table with a pouch with a solid heft.

“Which reminds me, fairly sure you’ve got some expenses coming up. Bartrand’s writing does well as code, unless you’ve had to read though the finer points of one of his contracts.”

“Opportunity in every problem; making my brother an endless supply of opportunity. But it’ll find a good home; thanks.”

“Current total’s 40 gold, 67 silver, 55 copper and some Antivan token I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know the purpose of. Tell him I can read dates; you’ll have what you need when you need it by.”

Hawke half-turned then paused at Varric’s nod, watching for a long moment, something more poised on the edge of being said in his eyes. Varric ruthlessly shoved down the responses jostling for space on his side; the silence, if awkward, held the whisper of that very rare creature, a second chance. Finally with a slight effort Hawke shoved the job details into a pocket, breaking the moment to leave abruptly. Leaving Varric keenly aware of the fact that the issues most useless to dwell on were the ones impossible to ignore.

“Yeah I know it is; and yes incidentally, that’s about as helpful as a bronto in a glasshouse.”

The last directed at Bianca, whose present mood indicated in no uncertain terms that any contact on his part would result in a probably pointed, definitely painful reminder of how much the current situation was his fault. And how right now, the only course was nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~  
He could tell himself that he’d gone that night because while he intended to make good on the Deep Roads deal whatever it took, it was still going to be tight. And Varric offered work that usually gave a slightly higher profit-to-risk ratio; which lessened the chances of having to accept a couple of offers from individuals who didn’t always take no for an answer regarding further employment. And as to the nature of said work, he really wanted to avoid those particular whatevers in ‘whatever it took’.

He could also tell himself that he’d asked Varric to come on the caravan escort a couple of weeks ago because it would have been idiocy to ignore that skill combination of stealth and long-range violence. And the money and rep they’d made dealing with the inevitable trouble that came with trying to save time cutting through that stretch of country had made it worth the three days out of Kirkwall.

But the other truth persistently nagging was that he’d missed Varric’s company. And that as the weeks had passed the refusal to let things end where they were had been stubbornly digging for their earlier friendship; wearing away in the process at his ability and desire to hold on to his anger.

~~~~~~~~~~  
Precisely four days early Hawke, with a grin of triumph that not even exhaustion could fade deposited a bag containing the last of the required stake on the table; effectively derailing whatever discussion had been in progress at the time and keeping Bartrand silent for the entire duration of counting the contents. This took longer than it might have owing to the ‘possibly suspicious’ proportion of copper; not that Varric didn’t appreciate the slow build. And he wasn’t going to begrudge Hawke savouring the moment.

“Well dip me in honey and call me a nug” Bartrand finally stated, faint but ungrudging respect in his tone as a combination of calculation, excitement and greed lit in his eyes. “You pulled it off.”

“Don’t recall that was in the contract” Hawke responded, pulling up a chair with a certain casual smugness. “But I take it there’s some final paperwork to confirm _full_ partner status?” Adding another item to the table; one that implied a damn impressive scrounging ability from a non-dwarf. The liquor, brewed from some combination of fungi was blindingly strong, indefinably but thoroughly revolting, and for reasons unknown traditionally drunk to seal agreements among the merchant families. Possibly because no-one sane would touch it if there wasn’t profit in it. Those wanting to climb the ranks learned to tolerate it- along with several moderately deadly poisons; but Varric was of the opinion that not even Darkspawn would develop a taste for it.

It _could_ have been a show of respect for dwarven tradition. Except that Varric was fairly sure he’d let slip at some point the little detail that Bartrand’s reaction to the stuff was…unfortunate. That had been an interesting Grand Ball. As was the look on his brother’s face.

The final negotiations took another two hours, Bartrand excusing himself soon after; slightly hastily if you knew what to look for. Claiming matters “that won’t wait if anyone wants to be eating more than deepstalker jerky on this trip. Make sure your lot’s ready to go; partner or no, there’s no waiting for anyone who can’t keep up.”

“The possibility of fewer claims on the profit? I’m sure no-one wants that in the slightest” Hawke commented; a touch of sarcasm making it through the slightly faint tone that came standard with Azhrak. Fortunately some of the Hanged Man’s vintages also taught the knack of using the edge of one’s chair as a point of balance when the stuff tried to viciously swipe your feet out from under you. And the wisdom of not staying standing for too long.

“That may be the single worst thing I’ve ever tasted; and I didn’t think much could beat Athenril’s crowd’s ‘welcome meal’ ” Hawke said with a grimace and a very deliberate swallow. “Apparently a jab too far has a flavour.”

“Well I didn’t want to say anything, would have ruined the entertainment. It’s either some ‘no profit without risk’ symbolic bullshit, or somebody sometime in history decided to be a royal-grade bastard. My money’s on the latter. But I can at least offer hair of the dog; a nicer, less rabid dog.”

As Varric passed over a generous glass of the best in his collection Memory, in a sharp frozen moment, landed a hit entirely below the belt of the last time this scenario had played out. Until Hawke moved to very deliberately finish the gesture; his eyes meeting Varric’s as he sat back. The slight smile this time was genuine, without the wariness of recently. Varric felt the second chance take another tentative step out of the shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“So Broody and Blondie actually agreed to come along in each other’s company; somehow I’m thinking not for promises of fame and glory. We’ll have to be up to our collective asses for the bickering to pipe down, but I won’t turn down that kind of backup.”

“Technically it only needs two and a half assloads of trouble for it to work; I checked” Hawke replied. “Mostly they agreed because they both had reasons for wanting to be out of notice in Kirkwall for a while.” He grimaced. “Mother couldn’t be more relieved; and Carver will probably forgive me about the time the Black City changes colour. I’m not leaving here because I don’t trust him dammit, I _do_ trust him; to take care of Mother if this whole box of crazy doesn’t go according to plan. Logic didn’t really come into that conversation though.”

“He’ll step up when he needs to.” To be honest Varric was somewhat relieved. He had a certain sympathy for the kid; but. And he suspected a number of reasons had a part in Hawke’s decision.

“Look…” Hawke spoke eventually after a long pause. “One more thing.”

“With the trouble we’re likely to run into even best-case scenario on this trip…I didn’t want there to be unfinished business between us. What happened before, the blood magic and, everything else- wasn’t anyone’s fault. And it wasn’t yours. So; let it go. I don’t want it between us anymore. I’ll have your back down there; whatever happens.”

Varric took the hand offered and what came with it, feeling like against the odds he’d let himself consider, something damn near mythical had just made itself comfortable at the fire.

“And I’ll have yours. Looks like I chose a far better partner than I deserve for all of this. Hawke…I won’t let you down again.”

The last words a promise he intended to make good on. The grip solid, sending heat shivering along his forearm against Hawke’s, a touchstone to trust new but healed. The moment lingered, an implied opportunity to turn the evening in one direction or another, but for now there wasn’t anything Varric valued more than the sensation of a friendship returned; and he intended to savour it.

“You need anything over the next couple of weeks, just say the word. Strangely Bartrand didn’t mention it, but there is an expenses account.”

“I had heard that armour could simply be bought in sets” Hawke mused “I always figured it was a myth. Although you might want to pick up an extra bronto by the time Anders gets through stocking up.”

The talk turned to planning, theirs and everyone else’s; and how many balls of string they should leave behind for Daisy. Although Varric was comfortably sure that Rivaini at least would keep an eye on the chit. And despite animosities their connection to Hawke would hold the rest of the unlikely pack, even in his absence. He’d pulled them together and whether they, or he, realised it they were hanging around to follow his lead and see where it took them, not wanting to miss out. After all they’d helped him get there. Varric included himself on that list as well; he had a feeling there was more than just profit waiting at the end of the Deep Roads.


	3. Chapter 3

“Bartrand?! _Bartrand!!_ ”

The dwarvish that Varric let fly with cut through the ominous shifting of stone and metal that heralded something important settling very permanently into place far out of reach. Shocked betrayal and fury tore at each other on the way out, the words harsh and sharp; Hawke caught less than one in ten but was pretty sure they should have melted stone. Except as luck would have it, in the case of said stone being part of an ancient, possibly cursed-and-or-evil dwarven thaig. Varric paused for a moment, listening as the sound subsided then turned abruptly, shoving them towards the back of the chamber.

“ _Move, now_ ; out before every other exit out of this blighted place closes!”

Hawke wasn’t sure if it was dwarven intuition- which Varric would derisively deny any and all association with- or simply survival instinct that got them just in time to a concealed exit that wasn’t generously sized even by dwarven standards, or if it had been in full repair. But hey, skin grew back. And neither physical nor magical methods were going to get them back that way.

Less than an hour confirmed that if there had ever been a way linking wherever they’d ended up back to the rest of the thaig, it wasn’t there now. And that whatever supplies they’d brought on the assumption of being away for a few hours were not enough for an extended trip of unknown length through the Deep Roads.

Varric caught Hawke’s eye as he and Anders turned to pore over the map. Seeing the rogue off-balance sent an odd wrench though Hawke; it was likely uncharacteristic to the others’ eyes, and eerie for him to see for the second time in as many months. But already it was being tamped down under a grim determination to see them all out of this mess; because revenge should be able to be taken at leisure, with both malice and forethought. A sentiment Hawke was more than willing to go along with.

He could sense the four of them assessing and mentally taking on roles as needed, fitting around and backing up one another’s skills as they always did. Meaning he needed to focus on that, and not be…distracted by certain members of their party. Survival and romance made either the best or worst company, and he suspected whatever came next was likely going to be a challenge even by their standards

~~~~~~~~~~  
Varric weighed the odds and decided that cursing the terrible literary cliché possibly contributing to their survival would be yanking the universe’s tail a little too hard. It wasn’t like there weren’t a wealth of candidates higher on the list. But Andraste’s ass; 'surface dwarf discovers innate stone sense in time of great need?' Some creative editing would be in order _when_ they made it back to Kirkwall.

He could have put it down to any number of other, mundane factors; the world he moved in made a good sense of direction a fairly essential survival skill. And yet there was _something_ , sitting just on the edge of feeling and hearing, a sense of pressure that came and went inside his head as they made their way through the labyrinth of this other, subterranean world. It was making Bianca uncomfortably territorial over the rights to his headspace, and giving him a howling bitch of a headache.

As a result he and Blondie had taken on the job between them of navigating, such as it was. And unfortunately both of their instincts tended to be correct; which meant that useable paths that might eventually lead back to the surface also frequently crawled with Darkspawn at inconvenient locations. Over the- a week by now?- they’d had to abandon attempts to reach two marked exits, putting them now well into one of the blank spaces on the Warden maps; and still deeper than they needed to be. Anders’ response to how the Wardens avoided those sorts of conditions had been “planning, luck; and sometimes, you don’t.” Shades only knew what or where was on the surface right now, it was a distraction they couldn’t afford to dwell on.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Took your sweet time; not like we’ve anywhere to be or anything.”

Hawke’s voice was as ragged as Varric felt, as he sat stiffly with a wince at what passed for a fire. Spider web burnt surprisingly well once you’d liberated it from the spiders. And it provided a source of light allowing them to eke out the life of the very few lightstones they had. That didn’t involve the critter that looked like a mutant hybrid between a starfish and some very flat beetle…and glowed in the dark. His disgust at the truth of yet another cliché had lessened somewhat when Anders casually mentioned that the things occasionally swarmed like a kicked ant’s nest for no apparent reason. And down here they were decidedly not vegetarian; even Darkspawn tended to avoid star swarmed tunnels. Camping near the things was a balance of utility and caution.

“Still bitching about the present I brought back? Feel free to return it yourself.”

Neither of them rose to the bite in the other’s tone; if the occasional snap kept them all from being at one another’s throats, it wasn’t really so very different from the surface. Said ‘present’ had been one very large pack of very panicked deepstalkers that had arrived right on his heels. Likely fleeing the same pack of Darkspawn they’d fought a running retreat from for two days, before gaining enough ground to find their current bolt hole. Things caused almost as much trouble when crazed as when actually hunting.

Dumping a trio of the creatures next to the firepit- oh yes, couldn’t forget its contribution to the fine cuisine. ‘Stalker meat might have edged its way into tolerable under other circumstances, but cooked on a web fire…it wasn’t _officially_ toxic but they were all feeling the effects after a week. Still wasn’t enough to make consuming anything from the few Darkspawn camps they’d been able to pick through an option.

“Since you did bring it back yourself I guess it’ll pass.”  
Hawke’s tone easier as he passed over a relatively full waterskin. Varric sent a silent salute to the mage sleeping nearby even as he grimaced at the taste. They could, and were, getting creative about a food supply but without Anders’- mostly- purifying spell picked up from the Wardens, water would have been another matter.

“We’re not going that way anytime soon, unless we feel like tangling with two other mobs on top of the one we’ve been trading with these last couple of days. Looks like they’re planning to move out somewhere, one of those bloody Emissaries was around in charge.”  
He didn’t mention the ogre; Hawke had Views on that particular Darkspawn.

“And with a bit of luck I might eventually forget the details of the dominance…yeah we’ll go with ‘fight’ that was going on when I left.”

It was Hawke’s turn to wince.  
“I take it back; your gifts are not accepted.”

“Oh I couldn’t withhold information from the decision maker; can’t tell what might turn out to be important. Welcome to the joys of leadership.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at that; but while it might take their combined skills and teamwork to get them out of this mess, they knew whose lead they were following when the chips were down. Even if Hawke hadn’t figured it out yet. Which was fine with Varric, he preferred the background, did his best work from the edge of the shadows; though the current setting was overdoing it.

“That leaves us with three charming possible exits; and one of those I’m guessing still sends us closer to the main highway than we want to risk.”

Varric hauled himself to his feet; mentally waving IOU slips at his body’s accumulating complaints. They’d been trying to avoid draining Anders’ resources completely too often, but trouble had a way of sensing such things. And they all knew that eventually making it to the surface was going to involve picking an exit and fighting their way out of it. The few flasks were being saved for when they’d need every edge they had; and the sooner they could take that option the better.

“Leave it” Hawke’s hand on his shoulder made him pause. “They’re not going anywhere. And the others got some sleep while you were away, until the wake-up call anyway. Take a watch’s worth, we’ll move out then.” With a wry glance at the reptiles. “And there shall be double rations for all.”

~~~~~~~~~~  
Varric rolled his eyes. “Be still my heart; and my stomach. We may need to go over the finer points of the quality of performance bribes- ” at which point he noted that Hawke’s hand had shifted to rest against the back of his neck. Generally Varric’s policy concerning hands or a number of other things near his neck was ‘move it or lose it’; and rarely that polite if he bothered with a response.

This time a lack of reply might have been connected to the fact that he had to exercise a noticeable amount of willpower not to lean into that touch in a less than dignified manner. Hawke’s fingers unerringly kneaded at the clusters of muscle knots, threaded through his hair along the what felt like wires currently trying to wrap themselves around Varric’s skull; warmth lingering in their wake. Varric closed his eyes and willed his breath to evenness.

After a moment Hawke’s hands in tandem began teasing their way in slow notches down his neck, pressure bordering on pain but the practised movements gradually drawing out tension- yeah well most places anyway…not that he was chasing that feeling shamelessly, just improving his posture, relaxing his shoulders…Until they paused, settling briefly at the junction of neck and shoulder before beginning again.

By the fifth, or third, or _whatever_ time, the justifications were starting to look pretty thin; and Varric really wasn’t inclined to care. Or to hide his voiced appreciation of the benefits of even a partial easing of the pain, even as he shifted seeking the angle that could finish the job on the remaining stubborn points now tenaciously digging in for a final stand.

“Relax.”  
One of Hawke’s hands reached around to cup his chin, sharply shifting just so even as Varric tensed in reflex at the instruction murmured in his ear. A growl hissed between his teeth at the sudden shock that ran down his spine like a bowstring’s snap; followed by several small things at last loosening and shifting back into place with an audible ripple of clicks and pops. Tipping his head back Varric took a moment to bask in the pleasure of pain-free movement, however temporary; the only twinge as he opened his eyes was perversely one of faintest disappointment at the solving of the problem, since it meant-

“Performance bribes. Noted.” Hawke commented dryly, pulling away as Varric opened his eyes; holding his look for a long moment before claiming a section of cavern floor near the fire undecorated from the recent skirmish. The look held just enough uncertainty that it couldn’t quite manage ‘challenging’, but served quite well to bring up a number of thoughts that Varric had- mostly- managed to avoid up until that point; possibly hopeful, and definitely maddeningly inconvenient.

_/No unfinished business my ass./_  
Well it was another incentive to cut this trip short.

When Varric caught the hint of amusement in Fenris’ expression despite their circumstances as he turned to track down his own piece of floor, he knew they were totally busted. If it turned out Rivaini had a betting pool going on, he’d damn well be claiming an opportunity tax. And at the end of things maybe, just maybe he’d only kill Bartrand the once.

~~~~~~~~~~  
Perseverance brought progress; for the last few ‘days’ they’d been moving more steadily towards the surface. Via an entirely uncharted area of the Deep Roads, that contained both numerous Darkspawn _and_ exciting new varieties of demon.

Demons that did not go down easily- Hawke hissed as he felt a thread of electricity crawl across the shield’s edge, the still- barely- functioning runes dampening the effects to a warning tingle. Half rock, half spirit and not a lot of weak spots. To his left Fenris was taking on two of the things, dealing raw damage with the greatsword that handled like a weapon half its size in his hands; he could hear the impact of bolts and spells as he worked to harry their remaining three enemies enough to keep them corralled until they could be dealt with. 

An offensive defence, currently light on the offence, fuck these things were faster than they had any right to be…charging forward to send one back a couple of steps into a second, weaving just in time to feel the rush of air as a rock flail whipped overhead. His world narrowed to a not-quite-rhythm of charge, circle one way then the other, retreat, draw their attention…Fenris shouted in Tevene as a growl of falling rock indicated one kill at least, and the sheet of ice that rippled out as he dodged back slowed two of them momentarily to give him a much needed opening.

Turning his attention to the third and feeling his blade sink into a joint, sending the thing staggering as he twisted it free. Concentrating his efforts as the warning hum increased in pitch…until a final strike took off the arm just below the shoulder- right as the rock demon’s final bolt of lightning arced wildly through the now-severed limb. Missing him but for a tongue of it that caught the tip of his blade and snapped him off his feet with a cry. Reflex had him bringing his shield up at the explosion behind him, barely meeting the much closer roar in front that slammed him back across the ground…

Things blurred…Hawke was dimly aware of trying to stagger to his feet through the shrill, painful ringing in his ears and the flashes in his vision as something large moved towards him…A brief wave of coolness- healing partial, hurried; but it steadied him enough to anchor his focus on the enemy in front. Aware of movement nearby- but since it wasn’t trying to kill him- irrelevant. Running on instinct until the space in front of him seemed still and empty…he turned seeking, _demanding_ an enemy, snarling a warning at whatever distraction pulled at him, _delayed_ him-

The sudden recognition of someone’s lips on his put him on his ass in the dirt again. The slightly slower conclusion formed that it was _Varric_ kissing him, very definitely kissing him; the tongue that teased across the claim at his mouth hinting at things he was damn sure would be of interest when he figured them out. It did nothing for the ringing in his ears, or the ability to get air into his lungs.

“You kissed me” Hawke said, half in accusation, half in confirmation. And slight disgruntlement that raising the question also meant that kissing was no longer happening.  
“Which one of you kissed me?”

Felt himself say the words, couldn’t hear them though; the question directed at the two slightly blurred incarnations of Varric standing in front of him. The Varrics looked like they were saying something- couldn’t hear that either.

_/Maybe if they stood on each other’s shoulders- like they did just before- I’d hear them better…/_ the thought made him laugh.

_/And it’d help with the kissing; and other things…/_ and an elaboration on _that_ concept of two Varrics sent his mind in a direction decidedly not laughter. Not that there wasn’t entertainment as Varric’s expression changed…nothing to do with him, Hawke totally wasn’t openly eyeing Varric up since they were being all sneaky and everything, but then it was pretty dark down here, and it wasn’t like Varric wasn’t watching him right back and looking like a cat that had fallen off something trying to pretend that it hadn’t, which would-

~~~~~~~~~~~  
Fenris. _/Right; should go check, got distracted there for a moment./_ Hawke pulled himself to his feet, waving away Varric’s offer of help which made the room shift away on him for a moment; probably following one of the Varrics, of whom there was disappointingly only one at the moment.

“You started it” Hawke said in passing, heading more or less, steadily for the others still over amongst the rubble of their recent foes. “One of you anyway; and don’t think I won’t figure out which one.”

Anders glanced up as he approached, and pointed to a nearby rock with a Look that even without words Hawke knew he probably shouldn’t argue with.  
“Fenris?” The ringing came and went now, mixed with pulses of silence leaning painfully against the side of his head. Anders started to answer, checked himself and gave a thumbs up as the other warrior stirred, sitting up stiffly to a glare and presumably demands from the healer. Eventually desisting in his attempts to rise any further as Anders turned back to Hawke.

There was a roaring moment of sound that had him wincing, clenching his teeth as it dropped to heavily muted but clear. The combined effect of the gradual return of his hearing and the peculiar feeling of the pressure increasing and falling as if things were shifting inside his head provoked a fierce dizziness worse than the original. Hawke kept his eyes shut as it evened out, taking a moment to appreciate the return of sound to the world and a measure of clarity to his thoughts. Except for recent flashes of memory happily making sure that confusion wasn’t going to feel left out.

In fairness Hawke knew that he had sort of been the one to start it; apparently they’d both decidedly failed the ‘resolved’ part of ‘resolved issues’. Mostly they’d managed to bury them under the current game of ever changing crisis management, and he didn’t need the warning concerning getting distracted about priorities. Looked like it’d have to do as motivation then, for the Conversation that was absolutely going to be had. As for the results…possibilities formed, shifted, were gracelessly and reluctantly shifted off the table…Varric was studiously scanning for Darkspawn when Hawke glanced over. The one definite that they deserved more than hurried moments snatched between the chaos.

“Right” Anders commented. “If everyone’s _quite_ finished trying to collect a complete set of head injuries, can we get on with the business of getting the Fade out of here?”

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Since I can’t See a head injury I’m just going to put your recent ‘alternative tactics’ down as symptoms of a permanent condition, beyond even my skill to fix.”

“Oh come on Blondie, are you really telling me as a Healer you’ve never used- ”

“And if you try and finish that ‘kiss of life’ joke we will get to find out if dwarves can run faster than star swarms.”

“Hah, I just have to run faster than you. And I’m just not sure if you’re sore that you never thought of it, or that you never managed to make it work.”

“For once, you would very much lose a bet on that. I’d prove it, under other- yes, _other_ circumstances, so you can quite glaring, and glowing at me like that. And better ones, don’t flatter yourself. If _ever_ there was a sign of how badly we need to get out of here; _that_ would be it.”

“Could try our luck asking the Profane; they seem keen to show us something anyway.”

“Which Profa- oh right. So apparently a lightning bolt’s like a direction now? Whenever I tried to explain that to the Templars they never seemed convinced…”


	4. Chapter 4

Three weeks- it later turned out- after matters had gone to the Fade on a fencepost they hit sunlight, which hit back. The next few days had involved very little beyond eating, sleeping and returning themselves to some level of ‘kick asses and take names’. But catching if nothing else sunrises; the existence of a day-night cycle wouldn’t be taken for granted for a little while. And after the first meal that had involved honest-to-Gods deer, Varric was willing to forgive the outdoors for itself for a few days.

There’d been initial, and persistent, suspicion on the part of the locals when they’d tracked down the nearest point of civilisation. More regarding coins that bore no remotely recognisable marks than their unorthodox direction of arrival. It had been chipped to approximate politeness by the combined forces of greed, and the recognition that the party was in no mood whatsoever for pissing around with technicalities over legitimate gold.

Varric had hauled in favours and racked up a number of, under other circumstances, painful IOUs to arrange shifting their ‘miscellaneous cargo’ at short to no notice. But hey, they’d be good for it at the final tally. And he took a vindictive, only slightly edged, pleasure in the fit Bartrand would have thrown at the expense.

When Kirkwall’s presence, several weeks overdue glowered at them on the horizon, strangely Varric was glad to be back. Here at least the darkness and things trying to kill them were familiar; even if he’d probably be acquiring a new collection of the latter by the time the issue of Bartrand was dealt with.

And it meant he’d run out of excuses. He and Hawke had been circling since they hit topside around the unspoken question of whether certain events from the Deep Roads went beyond ‘temporary insanity as a survival tactic’; and if so where.

Oh there’d been all too convenient reasons to split the work parties to have him and Hawke at opposite ends of the movements between village and mountain camps. Namely that putting Blondie and Broody together on a job for any length of time tended to lead to as much bitching as results. Still left more than enough time for silences full of things loudly not being said. 

There’d been ‘negotiations’ over the timing of messages being sent to Kirkwall. Hawke had snarled over any delay in letting Leandra know about their lack of dead. Varric hadn’t really argued on that one; he had too much respect for Leandra, and survival instincts around mothers. And he hadn’t intended for their return to be entirely unannounced, he just wanted it in the form of wild and inaccurate rumours rather than truth; beyond a very select few. The rest of the pack…that argument had been longer.

After what it had taken to get this far Varric intended that there _would_ be maximum profits for all. Money, reputation for those that wanted it- and probably even if they didn’t. As to what he wanted…Up until right about now Varric would have prided himself on his ability to keep business and personal separate; now he had them snarled so messily it was going to take forever to get the stains out.  
And it didn’t change a damn how much he wanted that conversation flickering in the near future; that he had no intention of letting get away, for all he’d screwed the appearance of priorities. Wanting more than he had any right to? Probably. Leaving himself wide open to get hurt? Decent odds. And they could roll themselves to the arse end of the Fade just one more time.

Everyone had been willing to spend more than enough time vociferously arguing over which events should take centre stage in the final telling. Varric had made a show of taking notes, but…amateurs. There was an art to the correct application of dramatic licence, and that rock wraith was going to take a fine balance. By the time he was through people might outwardly scoff, but there would be that voice that refused to leave saying “but maybe…”

~~~~~~~~~~  
Their return to Kirkwall might have been considered clichéd, except that the genuine fierce joy in the reunion that filled the Hawke household had a way of overriding the pettiness of such labels.  
At least for one of them such a homecoming was waiting; a moment of perfect reality to briefly eclipse the darker shades that the world tended to come in. And it seemed fitting. Varric might have started the dice rolling when he’d recruited Hawke but all of them knew on some level that it was Hawke’s star that had stood to rise the highest; that they’d been following even if they couldn’t see where it would lead.

_/So, that denial of your own impending change in career path is going well then?/_   
_/Brilliantly, thanks for asking. Now fuck off./_

Carver and even Gamlen had offered handshakes, backslaps, making them feel less like they were taking up space and holding up the walls. Hawke pretended gentle amusement at the tangle of embraces, orders to sit down before he fell over, mutterings at the lateness of messages, and being tugged to his feet to be embraced again. But he wasn’t interested in the slightest in interrupting it. And maybe it was only the occasion but something had lightened in Carver that had him more at ease as he moved amongst his family.

Varric’s intention to quietly see themselves out had been interrupted when Leandra had divided her focus from Hawke momentarily to issue an insistence to stay, eat, bring the others; setting off a flurry of preparations for same. It hadn’t taken much to decide that the logistics of commerce and revenge could be postponed a while longer, and for a wonder even Fenris had accepted. Surprising how compelling the lure of a welcome from something other than an empty bolthole could be.

The fact that the pack could charitably be described as a collection of misfits and lunatics had apparently never bothered Leandra; Hawke’s friends had always been just that. Since she was no-one’s fool Varric assumed it was because she trusted Hawke’s judgement over whatever impressions they’d made.

And if the net of fussing had been cast a little wider tonight, mostly it was subtle enough to simply be care and welcome in the hugs she bestowed on Fenris and Anders. For Varric there was a facet of her expression directed at him that indicated very clearly who she held responsible for whatever trouble they’d ended up in. But apparently he got some credit for being involved in getting them all home; which was enough to get him hugs as well.

~~~~~~~~~~  
The evening had run late as the others had trailed in; but there were still easily enough patrons to produce a suitable volume of awed silence when Varric kicked the door to the Hanged Man closed behind him. Pausing to etch the moment in everyone’s memories as he surveyed the room; noting with satisfaction his domain, unclaimed, waiting in the corner.

“Right. Which of you bastards is going to be the first to buy me a drink to cover that bet you just lost, concerning the ill-informed and no doubt poorly told rumours of my death?”

The silence lasted half the width of the room before erupting into a storm of shouting, whooping, the pounding of feet and tankards as Varric re-ensconced himself, Bianca humming quietly in his hands at the attention. He waved Isabela over from where she’d slipped in the back to watch the show. Interestingly the drink that reached him first through the crowds came from Norah, a very generous measure of the Hanged Man’s ‘unique’ house whiskey that Varric actually preferred, unlike most of her deliveries. Placed with a look daring him to say anything.

“So little faith in me Norah?”

She scowled. “You think I paid for this? With the size of the tab you owe? Your pride wouldn’t let you pass over without paying up; I knew you’d be back. Otherwise I’d have dragged you here myself.”  
Isabela returned an attempted look of innocence to Varric’s pointed one as she sauntered over; he knew damn well he’d settled before he left, Norah had him right on that score.

“And with your presence dear lady, the Darkspawn would have been a mere trifling inconvenience.”  
From her expression he figured the shield of a return from the dead would be good for one more comment, more or less; probably. Well if he hadn’t they’d think he really was dead.

Varric elected to savour the drink and the moment as an expectant crowd settled in around him. Enjoying the familiarity of a world created, owned and revelled in; for a little while longer. Reality would complicate things soon enough; but not tonight.

“I shit you not, there we were…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~  
“You’re doing _what_.”  
Hawke stared at his brother, willing his ears to have misheard the words just uttered. A whole three days grace they’d had, before the next crisis landed on their lives; this time self-inflicted.

“I’m joining the Templars.” Carver repeated.  
“Keran spoke for me to the Knight-Captain and I’ve been trialing with them for the last two months. They take the new recruits in a week.”  
There was a certainty backing the words that Hawke rarely heard from his brother; he’d never expected to hear it over something like this.

“And why in the gods-damned _Void_ are you joined the order that Father put half a world between to keep us free from them!?”  
Struggling to keep the argument low enough to avoid sharing it with the neighbourhood. Privacy in Lowtown tended to be assumed not actual; and fickle into the bargain.

“I’m finding a way to take care of my family that’s left; we can’t all go down in stories of treasure and glory!”

“This. Again. I left you here because there was every chance the expedition would go tits up- and it nearly bloody well did; you think three weeks trapped in the Deep Roads was a stroll in the market!? I _trusted_ you to find a way to keep- ”

“And I have. Jobs as somebody’s nobody hireling; where was that leading? And those come easier for some; I’m not you brother, don’t worry I know _that_ very well. But this is _my_ chance to be part of something bigger, to make something of myself! Father trusted a Templar- ”

“A Templar who helped him _escape_ ; one thing against whatever else he did. You planning on making a habit of breaking out mages? Should go down well with the higher-ups- and you’ve _seen_ what the Order’s like under Meredith; the stories Anders has told- ”

“And _you’ve_ seen the mages here, and right, taking the word of an abomination, Father would have been _so_ happy about that. They’re a threat, look what happened with Keran, or that elf you sent to the Dalish…?” Carver paused before choosing to voice his final, presumably in his mind convincing point. “You and Varric.”

A question unresolved, and too raw for him to tolerate hearing it used as leverage; not to lash out in that instant took more effort than was pretty.  
“That’s none of your fucking business!” Hawke snarled. “So don’t even _try_ and use it as an excuse for- ”

“Right; ‘cause I didn’t work just as hard to raise money for that bloody expedition. You think I’m the only one who noticed things weren’t right between you two after you went after that blood mage? I don’t care about what you feel for him but it wasn’t just your future at risk.”

“Yeah well some of us can manage to keep business and personal separate; unlike your new would-be buddies. What do you think would happen to Merrill in the circle, think they’d leave her alone even if they didn’t just make her Tranquil!?”  
Despite the elements of truth it was a low blow he knew; between those two it had been hard to tell which of them had been more awkward about Carver’s feelings towards her. Didn’t stop a moment’s satisfaction at his brother’s flinch.

“They wouldn’t- ” The first hint of doubt edged the denial; wouldn’t be enough.

“Maybe not, it’s no fun if they’re already broken. Wouldn’t what? Rape her? Abuse her? With no-one to stop them- or were you thinking you could?” Carver didn’t answer.

“Are you going to turn them in?” Hawke asked quietly, hearing the cold warning in his voice hiding the fear at the course that Carver’s next words could set them on. 

“No” Carver replied after a moment. “But Anders won’t give them a choice; they’ll come for him soon, and I won’t stop them. You’re putting everyone at risk if you try and defend him, and why? He’s an abomination, a _demon_ ; you can’t trust _anything_ from him. Father would have killed him and you know it!”

Probably true; he hated it when Carver had a point in arguments. But however stupid, part of him stubbornly refused to believe that that was the end of that story. That what else he’d seen that night in the Chantry had counted for nothing. And he knew that for better or worse he’d given his loyalty and taken on the responsibility.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Meet a lot of demons who heal for free do you? It’s not always black and white Carver, you could never figure that out. Anders is more than just that and I _will_ back the right of mages to be free; and him.”

“Then we’re on opposite sides.”

“Looks like. Father can be equally disappointed in both of us.”

For all that their relationship had been formed almost entirely through butting heads, commitment to protecting family had always been the narrow stretch of common ground between them; and they’d both made choices in the past of family over friends. But this wasn’t even that clear; they should be together on this but that path was obscured, as anger burned away the bond between them.

“They would have taken Beth” Hawke said eventually, genuine confusion rising. In stark contrast to the rivalry between them, Carver had adored his twin. “We’d never have seen her- ”

“Maybe it would’ve been better if they had.” Carver said quietly.

“If they had- ” He wasn’t even angry at the words, they didn’t make enough sense to get that kind of handle on.

“Maybe then she’d still be alive, if she’d had someone to protect her- the way _you failed_! I could have joined, kept her safe; for all you’ve tried to be Father you’re not, you never will be. You failed all of us and she…I _felt_ her die! I hate you for that. Bleeding out under a pile of rock and we left her, couldn’t even…”

Hawke stood silently, unsure if the borderline hatred in Carver’s eyes or the guilt bit deeper. He had no reply to the words from Carver, or from his own mind. Since their arrival on the docks of Kirkwall grief had always had to fight for space against the realities of finding ways to bring in enough coin to keep the family alive. They’d all found their own distractions to tear at it piece by piece, trying to shred it fine enough to have the remainder drift away; somehow. The guilt had never been that vulnerable.

“Don’t make this decision out of anger at me.”

Carver laughed jaggedly. “Always about you, isn’t it? Well this time it’s not; maybe I’ve finally found something I’m better at than you. Something to keep the family without ending up as criminals or worse; wherever you’re heading I won’t let you drag us there with you!”

He should let it go. If he’d attempted to follow his father’s lead over the years, well it’d been the only one he’d had. He should let it go. But he’d taken on responsibilities too young to ever share them well with Carver.

“Yeah, see how that earning money idea’s working out in maybe a decade, if you even make it that far. And when you probably lied to them, hid that you’re from a mage family, like you’re ashamed? They _check_ , you idiot; they’ll figure it out. You think you’re keeping us safe? You’ve just made them notice us. So you’re on your own, this family _will not_ take Templar gold; don’t come back here looking for help in spending it!”

“ _Enough._ ”  
Leandra’s voice cut through the haze of anger seething around them.

“You will not use what we lost in the past to destroy this family’s future. And you will not _dare_ to use Beth’s memory against one another!”

Her return had gone unnoticed, which silenced them both. The unwarned collision of authorities had the tension in the room coiling tight and ugly. Over time he’d built an almost-balance with her, between the roles of mother and the son who at fourteen had taken on too many of the responsibilities of the head of the family; but here Hawke knew he had no ground to stand on. Her declaration would hear no challenge; the steel in the low words backed by an anger banked but poised to blaze in an instant.

The flash of shame they stirred prevented less-than-forgivable words from either him or Carver about whether right now there was a family left; but nothing would bring them to cross the line to grant any acceptance of the other’s position. Leaving them with nothing more to say.

In the silence it was Carver who finally broke the impasse; leaving with an air less of surrender than simply choosing to make the conflict irrelevant. And Hawke didn’t need the look on his mother’s face to tell him how royally he’d screwed this one up.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“You knew about this?”

“I wondered. I _knew_ when he trusted enough to come and tell me.”

“Then why, _how_ are you ok with this?” Wanting to understand; despite the blow of the lack of an ally he’d expected he did not want to fight this one with her.

“Because he is, in his heart, truly doing it for the family. He wants to bring out the best in something, and maybe he can; Malcolm believed that about Templars as well as mages. The only thing that _is_ certain is that he’s my child, trying to find a path for himself; do you _truly_ think I’d turn away from any of you for that?”

There was a shade of understanding that tempered slightly, but didn’t extinguish the anger in her eyes. And Hawke was acutely aware under that look that while the struggle of the last two years to get them behind Kirkwall’s walls hadn’t involved anything he couldn’t face himself in the mirror over, there were a solid number of things he wasn’t going to brag about. But she hadn’t stopped them from doing what they’d needed to.

“Is it worth tearing this family apart, after everything, just to be right?”

_/This is Carver’s choice, not mine./_ A hollow excuse, not even true; right now he didn’t know where that lay. Malcolm Hawke’s ghost had stood at everyone’s shoulder tonight but brought no insight; the only voices they’d listened for were their own.

For once he’d followed Carver’s lead and left. Kirkwall’s streets generally offered nothing comforting, but maybe tonight they’d have an insight into how what should have been victory had turned to ashes, and who’d held the match.

 

~~~~~~~~~~  
Varric shook his head as Hawke fell silent. Out of all the chaos of the past several days he hadn’t seen this piece stepping onto the boards; but maybe they all should have. Probably wasn’t the politic moment though to chip in an opinion that Carver might have a point blundering around in there somewhere. Despite Anders’ rants he knew Templars who were actually decent human beings; who didn’t deny and did their best to penetrate the wall of indifference, or approval, surrounding the higher-ups about the abuses he also knew happened. And in an odd mirror he knew how it felt to be the younger brother bucking an ill-fitting role. Not that he’d ever do Hawke the gross disservice of a comparison with Bartrand.

“So Junior’s leaving…?”  
“Five days” Hawke growled. “If I don’t strangle him first.”  
“Bianca’s currently got a prior engagement in a sibling dispute, but if you want us to try to wing him with a stray shot, slow him down enough for another round of reasoned argument? Set him straight at least about Daisy and Blondie.” However vicious the family strife turned, they deserved better than to end up as collateral; that line Varric was decidedly willing to draw. Selectively, possibly hypocritically invested? Not so different to most of the world.

The offer raised half a grim smile. “On that, oh yes; looks like I’m in the minority on everything else though.” Hawke sighed. “And yeah, I know I screwed up handling this but…hells, he really sees this as the only option? Aveline would’ve taken him for the Guard if things had gone badly. Mother might have been able to convince him but…maybe she feels he was right about at least one thing…about Beth.”  
Varric put poor odds on it being external voices alone that had tiredness and uncertainty replacing anger in Hawke’s voice and posture.

“In her heart, nah I don’t think she does.” Varric trusted the insight enough to voice it; he’d come to know Leandra more than in passing as well as the brothers Hawke over the year gone. “But she isn’t going to accept losing anyone else she cares about, and she’ll fight like a demon against any path leading that way. Including against those she care about.”

“You were like almost any other refugees at the start, cost you dearly to get here and you’ve been running ever since, just to not get swept back off the cliffs. Grief gets pushed aside, left unfinished, and she’s a stone bitch at knowing when your guard’s down to turn up and claim her dues.”

As for guilt…something about wars, two fronts, idiots…  
 _/Yeah, one campaign at a time./_

“Bringing us to a notable point of exception. Unlike almost every other refugee you just found a place to stand, carved out some space and time for everyone; including him, which he might figure out eventually when he’s done being angry at the wrong person. You made good for your family for the long run, in a way that damn few could have, so he was dead bloody wrong about that one.”

“You’ve got the final tallies then.” Hawke’s attention shifted in an instant to the matter of the expedition’s outcome; the single tangible point in time that had consumed the past year and would carry all of their futures with it. “We made it...?” Watching Varric intently, waiting for the confirmation to shift the words from question to statement.

Straight, uncomplicated good news was a rare enough creature; more so to be the one to deliver it.

“Finals won’t be in for a while, but there’s enough. And yeah, we made it and then some. A lot. Your mother’s going to be surprised how fast that petition of hers shinnies to the top of someone’s priority list. There’s a mansion and a title in Hightown waiting for you Hawke, and that’ll just be the start.”  
Varric watched the emotions cross Hawke’s face as the significance of the words sank in. Relief dominated, but couldn’t hide the fierce satisfaction at what they’d achieved. And underneath quietly banked for the future; ambition.


	5. Chapter 5

“And the warm welcome of Kirkwall’s nobility; is this part of the reward or the cost?” Hawke asked eventually, the dryness underlain still by a note of surprise. They’d had hopes when they’d returned to Kirkwall against the odds, but the shift from almost, to actual reality still landed with weight behind it. 

“Well they won’t be able to ignore you; this’ll be all the news for a little while. Granted at least with Darkspawn you know where you stand. Look…between you and your brother…with everything else that’s changing and the way things are ripped up between you two, might be all you can do is take a step back- not saying he’s right, try and keep an option open on figuring out some common ground at some point. Not like it’s going to be now.”

“Yeah, maybe; I’ll keep an eye out for any passing winged nugs to get us to that future.”  
“How does the story between you and Bartrand end?” Hawke asked quietly after a moment. The question out there to be picked up or ignored as desired, but his expression clearly conveyed the awareness that his life wasn’t the only one recently upended and shaken inside out.

_/With the traitorous rat-humper dead at my feet, halfway through whatever piss-poor explanation he can come up with./_

“Currently in its own sweet time, and believe me I’ve got plenty of people digging; when the bastard surfaces from wherever he’s gone to ground you’ll be the second to know.” Varric forced half a grin of his own.  
“At which point I will generously free of charge offer an example of the exception to every rule. The number of unavoidable up close and personal dealings with the Merchant’s Guild I can look forward to as the future? Can’t let a gift like that go unanswered.”

Technically not unavoidable, but eventually over the years he’d chosen to be his family’s son, even if he and Bartrand had almost never seen eye to eye on his methods of contributing. This wasn’t the way he’d wanted it to go, but oh yes, he’d play their game; it would just be by his rules. Which they’d figure out. Eventually.

“Silver lining is, we got back before most of the financial fires started by my idiots relatives would’ve involved marriage contracts to put out. Don’t ask what that would have done to our profit margin; too many of mine, you couldn’t pay someone to take off our hands.”

“So; to victory then.”  
“And scars. Small but essential details, almost always a required element of the victorious image.”  
“Yeah they do seem to be, don’t they?” Hawke raised his glass. “Still I guess the price…could have been higher.”

“Victory and scars.” In unison.  
Hawke went as if to say something further, before simply letting the silence run; appreciating both sides of that toast, and savouring the brief quiet moment of the victory being theirs alone before taking to it share with the others. Only a faint sense of one final matter waiting to take a seat at the table. Varric wasn’t sure of its welcome, but it had been avoided too bloody long already.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Impending pay days of near-obscene size aside” Hawke began eventually, “that only really leaves one unresolved issue between us.” 

And it looked like he wasn’t the only one;  
“How things stand between us after the Deep Roads, and where the relationship goes from here?”

“Yeah pretty much.” Hawke was watching him closely again, with a clear intention to have questions settled, if not how. “I know things got crazy down there for a while in the interests of survival- not that I’m complaining about the results. But…was it anything more than that?” 

Varric considered, decided no one was drunk enough for anyone to be taking advantage of anyone and went with honesty. It was a good night for completing things, so roll the bones.

“Not going to deny there were a few points of opportunity taken…since I never stopped being interested, in you, in taking a proper shot at something between us, seeing where it led. The final call on that’s up to you; if we take that story anywhere or leave it down in the Deep Roads.”

He watched the decision pause in Hawke’s eyes for a long deliberate moment, then settle.  
“Really don’t feel like giving the Roads, or anything else, a win they don’t deserve” Hawke mused, “and hey, an amount of the right kind of crazy…makes things interesting.” Uncertainty fading, against a slow-building heat Varric could feel rising to match in his own expression.  
“So I think I’d like to see where that story leads as well.”

He could think of any number of places; currently very few of them involved words.  
“The Roads have been entirely too greedy with their thieving. I’m suggesting a move to somewhere a little quieter for a, tactical discussion, about putting an end to that?” Varric tipped his head in question towards the common room’s back stairs. “Since for a little while at least, I don’t feel like sharing.”

“Well except with Bianca, naturally” Hawke said with a smile, “I’m hoping she’s willing to be generous.”  
“Oh, fairly solid intel says that’ll work out.”  
“In that case” something approximating a tip unceremoniously hit the table amongst the debris as they stood. “Good plan.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~  
Calling an exit involving two people a stampede might have been stretching the definition even by his standards; but it had hit all the requirements for ‘haste not grace’.

In a familiar ritual Bianca was settled with care in her usual spot, self-selected to afford her a prime view of the suite. Decidedly less attention was given to the assortment of boots, coats, and weaponry that scattered across the common space in a remarkably short period of time.

“Just so we’re clear; there’s no business here, no obligations.”  
Varric wanted that spoken aloud as Hawke moved to take the hand he held out, the touch simple but intimate; feeling the hunger humming warm through the light brush of fingertips.  
“Wherever it goes, this is just us.”

“ _Yes._ ” No hesitation or edge to Hawke’s reply, just a flicker of amused impatience. “Varric…will you quit worrying that you’re going to break me” rolling their hands palm to palm, intertwined fingers the solid ground it had taken them long enough to get to. “I want this, you want this, and there’s no plan whatsoever; what more do we need?”

“Missing plan? Careless that; we’ll just fill in the gaps along the way…” Starting with the first kiss where neither of them was under the influence of anything but what was wanted in that moment.

There was a greediness, a need to savour and yet have everything at once that roughened the rhythm of the first touches of lips and hands to weave between sparring and play, but that worked fine for the both of them. Eliciting a shiver as Varric traced his hands across ribs to finally run across that ass that he’d had any number of opportunities to observe to distinct distraction over the months. Hawke rolled his hips into Varric’s touch with a hint of can you catch me/can you keep me. Well yes, not that escapes were in evidence as Varric slid a hand up Hawke’s back, pulling him close.

Hawke might have been newer to the matter of height differences but he learned fast, and what else was hands-on practise for. His fingers curling caresses over collarbones while yanking at laces-

“You know, for the record” Hawke commented, as Varric emerged blinking from the shirt shucked over his head, the tangle of fabric at his wrists trapping just enough to tease “I never said that I didn’t enjoy _any_ of what went on in earlier nights. Let’s…just take it a bit slower; I like to know who I’m with before playing that game.”  
“That’s a notion I could get behind.” Relax, and a shift had Varric slipping his hands free. “Prefer knowing who’s in my head, noisy enough as it is.”

“That could involve quite a lot of detailed research” Hawke mused. “We should make a start on that”. Sauntering over to prop one hip against the table’s edge, the better to slide breeches down over said hips, before hopping up to sit one knee drawn up and splayed askew beside him, giving Varric a half-smirk that was all trouble at the entirely shameless pose.

“As long as we leave a little territory for Bianca, I do like keeping my notes to hand.”  
He’d never regretted for a fraction of an instant any of the liaisons that had fallen through over the question of Bianca’s place in his life. But that didn’t stop the huff of warmth that flickered in his belly when Hawke considered his next move as he would in regards to any other useful information.

~~~~~~~~~~  
Hawke turned to address Bianca and the sight of him kneeling, leaning on one hand, light on the lines of his back winding lazily down the length of his spine to the curve of his ass, tucked barely demurely against heels had Varric shucking the rest of his clothes with little ceremony.

“Milady Bianca please forgive the disruption, you have my word no challenge intended. And that we’ll do our best to make your indulgence worth the while.” Spoken with charm but no mockery.  
Varric almost opened his mouth in warning but then opted (placing no bets on the wisdom of this) to let matters run, as Hawke deftly slipped his hands under Bianca to subtly adjust her position on the table, improving viewing and ‘manoeuvring’ space. Care in his touch without over-lingering.  
A sleepy growl batted at the back of Varric’s mind, but no violence followed.

“Oh, she likes you. I wouldn’t try a repeat outside of emergencies- tends to get one created for the occasion; but she definitely likes you.”

“Good to know; everyone has excellent taste then” Hawke chuckled warmly, before reaching out to pull the both of them down onto the polished surface, pleasantly cool but quick to warm. A location in which a great many issues concerning height discrepancies became irrelevant; and holy hells but Varric intended to do his research thoroughly.

The greediness of earlier eased, they moved with each other to sweep away everything that had come before and would tomorrow, luxuriating in the here and now. Nothing in his head to dull the feel of Hawke under his hands, the points and lines on his body; guided by the hitches in breath and gasps on where to trace more deeply, where to ease away and doubting he’d tire of them even if he mapped them all. Ending up half kneeling, half draped in Hawke’s lap, one of Hawke’s legs tucked beside him, kneading a hand the length and back again of the other loosely hooked around as the edge of Hawke’s foot trailed gently up and down his spine. Caressing both thumbs up the hollow of thigh and groin to brush over hips and down again, before letting his hands wander a little more in a lingering stroke the length of Hawke’s cock. And enjoying the throaty growls of pleasure from his efforts, interrupted as Hawke’s heel pulled him forward to tumble him against the man sprawled across his table and into a rough, hungry kiss. 

Encouraged, Varric flexed fingertips splayed on Hawke’s belly, knuckles brushing over the head of Hawke’s cock and his own while his tongue trailed heat across the inside of Hawke’s mouth. Stilling when Hawke’s mouth closed over the pulse point beneath his jaw to claim a mark, pressure/pain riding all the right edges to send a shiver through him. Varric tipped his head back in invitation with a growl of his own as Hawke licked and nipped his way from collar to temple.

“Think we’re going to need some extra research equipment” Hawke murmured, his breath ghosting warm over an earlobe briefly captured.  
Varric was already going for one of the table’s many helpful concealed drawers.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Like a cat you are.”  
He wasn’t purring. Much. Well not that loudly anyway. Varric paused in his ministrations from his position straddling Hawke’s hips, the better to slick himself well while not neglecting Hawke; reaching back to wind his palm over the tip of Hawke’s cock.

“So would that be a request then to, ‘ignore you until I want something, and then sit on your head’?” raising an eyebrow in only moderately dubious suggestion as he rolled his hand to lightly run a thumbnail up the underside of Hawke’s shaft, through the slit and across the head. Setting Hawke writhing under him with a groan of pleasure, fingertips of the hand resting against Varric’s chest tangling in the curls of hair he’d been not-at-all-distractingly carding through, sensation skittering in their wake.  
Fine; damn straight he was purring.

“Oh how we should follow up on that” Hawke replied after a moment, the look in his eyes saying he was having no trouble expanding on possibilities. “Tonight though feels like it may involve an attack of the late-night crazies…” 

“Sounds like enough of a plan to get into the right kind of trouble with.” It had been a while since he’d had a human partner but all it took was a little fine tuning for the optimal angle to guide himself onto Hawke’s length. And Varric felt even his ability to ‘masterfully build tension’ (be a fucking tease) waver at the feeling of Hawke’s hands caressing his ass, supporting him while palming him open as he took Hawke deeper, any burn melting away as he relaxed into the fullness. Pausing only a moment before he began to move, Hawke’s hands lifting him for a little space to follow Varric’s lead. Feeling their pace build to match the energy that ran between them most times, that pushed without drawing an edge; trusting that under both their leads through everything they’d have the craziness land on its feet.

In between a number of enjoyable noises Hawke was grinning, and anyone who said that copper was the poor man’s coin had clearly never had those eyes shining at them from out of the play of shadowlight over skin and stone while shagging Hawke across a table.

Varric leant back on his heels, shifting for the roll of his hips to send Hawke’s cock sliding against that spot a little deeper, tightening him around Hawke as heat pulsed low in his belly. And when Hawke replied to the invitation and took Varric in hand with long, lazy strokes it did nothing for the articulateness of what came out of his mouth and had him wanting this, and more, and dammit _everything_.

~~~~~~~~~~  
Slipping into an ebb in their rhythm Hawke sat up, capturing Varric’s face in both hands to rest his forehead against Varric’s gently; movements stilled to a flicker of hips. Easing back after a moment to trail butterfly kisses across Varric’s mouth and jaw; drinking him in through sight and taste and touch. The sensation was a heady brew, one that had Varric’s fingers threading through the curls tangled at the nape of Hawke’s neck, off-balance and yet not. And if it wasn’t a position he usually took when Hawke rolled them back to the table with Varric underneath him, here and now Varric was entirely down with this line of investigation.

Hawke raised himself up on his arms to watch as he slid into Varric, nudging him open a little further a little deeper in teasing, gentle motions to sheathe himself fully.  
“Good not good?” Hawke asked, voice roughened in desire but listening for Varric’s answer.

Almost too much, too full; and yet “Hold that pace, and we- Paragon’s _balls_ \- we’re all kinds of good” gods-dammed perfect.

For a very pleasurable while Varric was content to ride that balance, every stroke sending a shiver rippling up his spine as Hawke fucked him slow and deep. Until that same smoothness glided over to maddening; a breath across a banked fire that sent tendrils of heat and sparklets curling into the air and had him as taut as Bianca’s bowstring, but never _quite_ enough to kindle. 

“You…are a terrible… _distracter_ of research…” Varric groaned, attempting to find an angle to steer the proceedings back on track, as it were. Made trickier by parts of him not actually wanting anyone going anywhere.

“All knowledge is…useful” Hawke responded, amusement lacing his unconvincing obliviousness. “Might just need to beg an…extension”. Leaning in to slide deep once more, further unravelling Varric’s argument; only the hitch in his voice and the fine shiver in his arms tattletales of the struggle to hold himself to the line he’d drawn.

As a not-desperate (actually desperate) tactic Varric curled a foot around the hollow of Hawke’s hip, bringing a temporary lull to activity. It was a ridiculous gambit with all the substance of wet paper, deserved failure averted only by dumb luck in that Hawke’s bluff collapsed at about the same time, bringing a huff of laughter from both of them.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Oh come now Hawke.” Varric stretched, feeling remaining tension (minus a couple points of extreme exception) melt into the stone beneath them. Opting to relax away from the question of whose lead it might be in favour of admiring the view, and conveying in that look just how much fun the evening’s escapade was providing.  
"Know you can’t resist a dramatic finale.”

“ _I_ can’t resist?” Hawke retorted, but while moving with an air that said he didn’t aim to disappoint; circling up to a rhythm rolling with a little rough in all the right places and quick as that the fire caught and blazed. And Varric could feel it racing through Hawke’s fingers twined in his against the table over his head and went all in for the ride; working to hold back just a little longer even as the tightness coiling hot and heavy on every thrust promised a win both ways.

When their rhythm slipped off - back - almost back, time to see if the crazy could stick the landing…Varric’s hand slid to the base of his shaft short and fast, over his balls, hooking his legs to pull Hawke in close as the warrior tipped his head back, a rough groan of pleasure tangling around the short shudder-strokes as he finished still deep inside Varric “ _Hells_ yes - Hawke -”  
And then Varric was following him, arching back against the stone as the fire shivered out through every nerve to take wing on the air, leaving behind it a blissful haze of warmth.

Hawke settled slowly back on his heels for a moment before sprawling on the table beside Varric; focussed activity was definitely off it at that point. Eventually Varric rolled over enough to trace fingertips idly along Hawke’s ribs, drawing a lazy yowl from the warrior as he pounced to capture Varric’s hand; the protest undone somewhat by the light, playful kiss that came with it.  
“Sooo, I’m hopeful that Bianca enjoyed the show then?”  
“Oh I wouldn’t have any worries on that score; should even be an extension in it; after all, you can’t rush genius.”  
“Hmmm” Hawke rolled over to watch, chin in hands as Varric hoisted himself upright to pad around the suite acquiring towels, water, damn fine top-shelf offering; shooing Hawke off to add them to the table’s general disarray. Hawke helped himself to both, settling to lounge towel-clad for comfort more than modesty in a chair, and watching as Varric pulled up another to join him. The observation gentle, but enough to make Varric aware that it wasn’t a level of casual he generally shared, even with intimate company. And also aware that with Hawke it hadn’t taken an effort.

~~~~~~~~~~  
“Something on your mind Hawke?” Varric enquired after a little while, resisting – mostly – the temptation to layer a little suggestion into the question.  
“This and that” Hawke replied, giving the suggestion right back. “Do you ever wonder what life would look like if it wasn’t trying to turn itself upside down inside out at random times?”

“Ah, quiet, uneventful lives. I’ve heard rumours of them in far off lands; don’t make it into a lot of tales though. You really think you’d acquire a taste for it at the end of the day?”

“Well maybe not all the time but – Hightown? As somewhere to loiter without intent?” Hawke shook his head “I’m just hoping that Mother remembers how this whole nobility mess works…”  
The anticipation of being able to share that news and deliver on the grind of the past two years lit Hawke’s expression, in the moment unhindered by the complications of family and other realities. And had Varric considering that it likely was a circle of association far more unfamiliar than Hawke would generally admit to. Though he knew where his money was on who would blink first.

“You might be surprised where the similarities show up; think of high society as being like Barrel Lane street food. Rich in colour and spice, best not to ask what went into making it, but hard to resist even though you know it’ll probably try and poison you half the time.”

“Nice” Hawke tipped his glass in salute; then looked hopeful. “Does this mean keeping in practise involves regular visits to that pasty stall at the east end?”  
“Geh, make that two out of three on the poison front.” Bugger keeping dwarven tradition alive concerning those creations. “Dangerous tastes like that you were saying about a quiet life…?”

“Oh guilty as charged” Hawke stretched languidly, rolling it into a yawn as the towel tucked casually at hips slid in interesting directions of its own.

The hour wasn’t late, to the extent that day/night cycles and Varric’s schedule ever actually coincided. But watching Hawke curled sleepy and content and dishevelled, watching him…other plans for the evening had just heard the quiet sound of the door behind them.

“If you’d like to stay the night Hawke, you’re more than welcome.” The offer made without strings.

Kirkwall’s muggy heat might not need any encouragement, but he’d take the extra warmth from Hawke’s lazy answering smile.  
“Sometimes we make good plans; I like that one.”

~~~~~~~~~~  
The bed was generously sized for sharing. Bianca (low-grade rumour aside) did _not_ occupy the other side; deserving nothing less than her practical but elegantly beautiful wooden stand, custom designed and carved. The bedclothes however…

“Should I be expecting a ransom note in the small hours?” Varric enquired, settling into a bed that Hawke had, with a few precise and efficient manoeuvres untucked on all fronts.

“Freedom for all blankets” Hawke declared mock-solemnly, a flicker of mischief in his eyes. “I’m sure we can figure out a solution if needed”. A prediction well made as it turned out, with the general shuffling and the snuggling that ensued…And when Varric drifted awake briefly in the small, quiet, hours it was to Hawke sleeping next to him amongst blankets strewn every which way like discarded trophies.

Sometimes a little chaos came in handy; Varric decided the untuckable blankets would be kept on. Well until they weren’t, but he doubted he’d be complaining.

Finis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the first piece I wrote for Cian and Varric, but it was irresistible as an origin story for the pairing that has more-or-less consumed my fic brain. Can't be helped; those two idiots are just too damn fun to write. Even though I'm deeply suspicious that DA:I is going to break my heart and require considerable ret-conning. No spoilers please! I _still_ haven't had the means to play it (#tinyviolinchorus, #firstworldgamerproblems). We'll be figuring out how to remedy that...


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